“No, not really.” He laughed. “Let’s just say she’s very different from how my own mother was.”
“In what way?”
“My mother had a heart.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, she’s as sweet as she can be to me. But that’s because I serve a purpose for her.”
“By marrying her daughter.”
“Bingo.” He smiled, but it was weighted with uncertainty.
“And Arthur?”
“Like I told you, he’s not the greatest guy, to say the least. But he treats me reasonably well. We play golf together sometimes. He calls me ‘son’ when he’s had a few drinks and there are other people around. That’s not the real Arthur, though.”
“I’ve heard.”
“Oh yeah?” He turned toward me.
“Just a little. Some stuff I’ve read online,” I lied.
“I’m sure that barely scratches the surface. He’s very private. The one thing he hates most is when people try to get into his business.” Great. “He won’t even stay at a resort with other people. Doesn’t like to be observed in a relaxed atmosphere. He thinks it’s a sign of weakness.”
“So they don’t go on vacations?”
“They have a number of homes, but mainly they go to Camp David.”
“Like, the president’s Camp David?”
“No. Their Camp David. Ridiculous, right?”
“Just a little.”
“Anyway, that’s where they escape to. Even I’ve only been there once and that wasn’t until after I’d proposed. And it was at Tatiana’s insistence. I don’t think Arthur was too thrilled about it.”
“Where is it?”
“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” He nudged me with his arm.
“Really?”
“Not really. But you get the idea.” William pointed to a small ice cream shop on the corner, which brought an abrupt end to our conversation about Arthur. “This is the spot. It’s a hole in the wall, but they have the best mint chip.”
“Mint chip is my favorite.”
“Mine too.” He placed his hand on the small of my back to lead my inside. “We’re a match made in ice cream heaven.” Then he smiled at the man behind the counter and said, “The lady and I will each have a double cone of mint chip.”
“Double?”
“Why not? Live a little.” He passed me a stack of napkins.
“Double it is.”
“So what’s been going on with you?” he asked, as we left the ice cream shop and cut across to Third. “I feel like we always talk about me.”
“I’ve been good. Things have been going really well with work. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually love the wedding industry. I’ve made some strong contacts, and I finally feel like I’m coming into my own. There’s something so satisfying about orchestrating the most important day of people’s lives.” It’s such a relief when I can discuss things that are actually true with William. It makes the friendship feel more real.
“I can imagine.” He nodded. “What’s your favorite thing about it?”
“Good question.” I thought about it. “So, the other day when I was with one of the caterers, I sampled this unbelievable lobster dish, and I knew immediately that the groom was going to love it. And then last week, I saw one of our brides in her dress and I just knew it was perfect. I could tell from the expression on her face how happy she was. I guess it’s those moments when things work out as their supposed to or as we planned they would.” We turned onto Eighty-Fifth Street and fell silent when I stopped in front of my building. “This is me.”
“Thanks again for listening, Olivia. You’re the best.” We stood facing each other, close enough to allow the other pedestrians to pass around us.
“That’s me. The best.” I rolled my eyes and William leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. “Have a good night.” I waved at him before entering my building.
That’s when it hit me like a sucker punch. I’m falling for William. I’m doing exactly what Jordana warned me not to do. But I can’t stop myself.
At the same time, I can’t deny that my plan for revenge is going to injure him. All the lies I’ve already told. The depth of deception that’s still brewing. I can’t breathe.
But I also can’t turn back.
Maybe I am just a horrible person after all.
28KERRIE
Once I’d closed the door to my apartment, I erased the thought of William from my mind and shucked off my work clothes. There’s nothing more gratifying than that moment when you unfasten your bra. I flung it onto the bed, then slipped into sweatpants and a hoodie while I waited for Sara to arrive, which didn’t take long.
“You look comfortable.” She shuffled in, wearing fluffy gray slippers and a pair of men’s style pajamas.
“You do too.” I poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her.
“How was your day? Did you find out anything?” We collapsed onto my couch and she got right to the point.
“I did. But I’m not sure it’s worth much.”
“What is it?” She sat up straight.
“Apparently, the Doonans have a vacation home called Camp David.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
“Where is it?” She leaned in closer.
“I don’t know. William couldn’t tell me.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Couldn’t means he’ll never tell you. Wouldn’t means there’s a possibility.”
“Somewhere in between, maybe.” It’s hard to judge how loyal William is to his future in-laws, despite his personal feelings. And I hate putting him in the middle.
“It could be a dead end, but it’s worth looking into. I’ll investigate.”
“Okay. What about you? Anything?”
“I spoke to an old source from the newspaper. She said she can give me some access without raising a red flag, so I can start looking into Arthur’s company. This way I can get myself up to speed on what’s been going on during my hiatus. It’s a first step, if nothing else. And who knows? Maybe I’ll find some kind of clue or at least a lead. Sometimes even the craftiest criminals make mistakes.”
“How long do you think that’ll take?”
“Not too long, I’m sure, why?”
“Well, it’s just that Tatiana and William’s wedding is just a couple weeks away.”
“That’s right.” Her eyes twinkled.
“And I was thinking maybe we could wait until after that.” I know William is having some second thoughts, but if he does decide to go through with marrying Tatiana, I can’t, in good conscience, ruin the most important day of his life.
“You’re fucking brilliant.” Sara slapped one of my throw pillows.
“Why is that?”
“If we can implicate Arthur within the next couple of weeks. And get an article published on the morning of the wedding, that will take this to a whole new level. It will be explosive! There will be Doonan shrapnel all over Wall Street and beyond.”
“Wait, no, that’s not what I said.”
“It’s still genius, my friend.”
“I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “Why do we have to drag Tatiana and William into this?”
“Tatiana and William are going to be dragged into this no matter what.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have to intentionally screw them. That’s just adding insult to injury. They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Olivia.” She held my gaze. “Stop worrying about everyone else. When we pull this off, it’ll be our moment. Your moment. Finally getting what you deserve. I can’t believe I’m the one saying this to you, but are you in or are you out? There’s no room for
wishy-washy.”
“Of course I’m in. But my focus is on Jordana and Arthur. Not William.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have a crush on him.” She pointed at me. “I can see it in your face.”
“I do not!” I objected. Even though I’d give my left arm to marry someone like William (or William himself). I’m also not naive enough to think he would ever consider being with someone like me.
“I think you do.”
“Well you’re wrong.” I looked away. I knew I sounded unconvincing. “We never become invested in the relationships of our brides and grooms. We’re not marriage counselors. Our job is to execute the wedding itself.” I repeated Jordana’s cardinal rule verbatim, which sounded idiotic.
“Honey, that may be a nice motto, but it’s not real life.”
“This is silly. Just because I don’t want to ruin William’s wedding, doesn’t mean I’m interested in him romantically.”
“Whatever you say.” She held her hands up. “All I care about is whether you’re in or you’re out. And in means doing whatever we have to do, even if it fucks with William.”
I waited a beat before saying anything. I thought about my nana. I thought about Jordana’s lavish apartment. And I thought about the woman I want to be. “I’m in.”
29JORDANA
“Jordana.” My mother came knocking at nine o’clock this morning. I haven’t slept that late since I was a teenager. “Are you up?” I heard the knob turn and the door open just a crack. It was refreshing to be awakened by a soothing voice in my old home—not my father’s ominous roar. You lazy little bitch. Get the hell out of bed and make yourself useful around here. You think this a free ride? he’d, shout and then rip the covers off me. Fond memories.
“Yup,” I croaked, sitting up and stretching my arms overhead as she lifted the blinds on what appeared to be a beautiful sunny day in Connecticut.
“I made you French toast for breakfast.” She was already showered and dressed in pleated beige slacks and a red sweater. Her auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail, highlighting her cheekbones and radiant complexion.
“I’m not hungry.”
“But they’re your favorite,” she pressed.
“Mom, please. I said I’m not hungry.” Despite ten hours of sound sleep—more than I’ve had since I married John—I was still tired. Thankfully, she noticed that I was somewhat irritable so didn’t push the issue any further.
It’s pretty amazing that my mother can still measure my moods. That eighteen years later, she still knows me that well. Honestly, I’m flattered.
There’s no more accurate description for yesterday than to say it was surreal. Kind of like when you’re roused from a dream and can’t escape the notion that it wasn’t just a delusion. You can smell the dream. You can taste it. That’s what it’s like to come back home after nearly two decades. To walk through the front door. To sit at the kitchen table. To sleep in my own old room, which is the only space that my parents left untouched.
My creaky wooden bed is still intact and uncomfortably restrained by my old blue flannel sheets and the red-and-gray striped comforter. My white wicker, glass-top bureau is also in one piece, which is pretty remarkable given that it continues to lean to the left.
And then there’s the life-size stuffed tiger slumped in the corner of the room. I won him at the state fair for tossing a baseball into a jug in one try. I witnessed my father glow with pride that night. He’d never done that before, at least not about me. “That’s my girl,” he’d crowed. Of course, he later chalked it up to beginner’s luck and told me not to be a braggart.
It’s strange without him here. The house is more relaxed. So are we.
I told my mother that I needed the remainder of the morning to catch up on work. She said she understood, but I could sense her disappointment. However, when it came to lunch, she wouldn’t take no for an answer, which is what landed us at Frankie’s Diner. It’s been open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week since the 1930s. But that’s not why my mother picked it. I’m wise to her plan. You see, Frankie’s Diner is less than half a mile from Bridgeport Hospital, where my dad is dying. How’s that for convenient?
Despite this knowledge, now—sitting across from my mother—I’m still less anxious than I was earlier, because I had the chance to speak to Olivia, who continues to be the best decision I ever made. She has the uncanny ability to anticipate what needs to be done, without being a know-it-all. Thank God. I don’t work well with know-it-alls.
With Olivia by my side, I’m going to be able to grow the company by leaps and bounds. Maybe even take on twice as many weddings. I’m seeing green. And you know what green means? Freedom. Whoever said independence was red, white, and blue had it all wrong. Believe me. This lady of liberty likes cold hard cash.
My mom has been quiet since we sat down. She’s thinking about something. Hiding something, if my instincts are correct.
“How’s the coleslaw?” She motioned to the small bowl next to my plate, a heap of carrots and cabbage drowning in mayonnaise and vinegar.
“I’m not eating it. Would you like some?” I edged it toward her. She knows I hate coleslaw. Or doesn’t she remember?
“No thank you. Though if you’re not going to eat your pickle . . .” I handed it to her even though I wanted it, because I know that she loves anything briny. When I was a child she used to dip pretzel rods in sea salt.
“Are you sure?” She took it before I could answer.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I offered a charitable smile. One minute I want to tell her that I forgive her. That everything is going to be okay. Better even, once my father is officially ridden from this universe. Unfortunately, the next minute I want to berate her for never being the mother she should have been.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” It’s the umpteenth time she’s said it.
“Me neither.” I dunked the corner of my tuna melt in ketchup and took a bite. The grilled bread, the cheese, the savory fishiness, and the tang of the ketchup melted in my mouth. “So do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” She concentrated on her Greek salad. Even the grape leaves couldn’t save her from my interrogation.
“Mom. You know exactly what I mean.”
“Okay, okay. It’s just that . . .”
“What?”
“It’s a lot.” She set her fork down and strummed her fingertips agitatedly on the table. “And I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”
“Well we won’t find out until you tell me, will we?”
“I don’t know.” She fretted some more, as she twisted her napkin into a baton. I looked to my right at the lady in the booth next to us. She was rocking back and forth and chanting something under her breath. “Don’t mind her. That’s Cindy. She sits there all day.”
“That’s weird.” I watched her some more. How do people get to the point that they’re alone in a diner for twelve-plus hours just swaying and muttering. No one to talk to, even though all of the regulars know who they are. That could have been me if I’d stayed. If I’d let my father drive me crazy.
“There’s something a little off with her.” My mother snapped the slice of pickle with her front teeth. “She never bothers anyone though and—”
“Okay, Mom,” I interrupted. “Let’s not get off topic here. Just come out and say whatever it is you’ve been holding in. On the count of three. Are you ready? One, two . . .”
“Your father can’t walk,” she blurted and then looked up at me to appraise my reaction.
“That’s it?” I shrugged. “What’s the big deal? The man is dying. I’d hardly expect him to be dancing on the ceiling.”
“No, you don’t understand. He’s . . .” She inhaled a long deep breath, as if air was a precious commodity. “He’
s a paraplegic. He has been since . . .”
“Since what?” My stomach stirred in warning.
“Since you left. Well, actually, we didn’t have his diagnosis until the next day.”
“What are you saying?” I lowered my voice like it was some sort of secret. Like Cindy might overhear us. “I’m sorry. I’m going to need a little more of a clarification.”
“When you came at him with the chair . . .” She treaded carefully. “He fell pretty hard. He was unconscious.” She paused.
“Okay. And?”
“And I called an ambulance, but it was taking so long. It felt like at least an hour had passed.”
“An hour?”
“I don’t know how long it actually was. But anyway, I was afraid to wait. So I dragged him to the car and lay him across the backseat.”
“You dragged Dad that far? He weighs twice as much as you do!” Not to mention that you’re supposed to keep people as stable as possible after a blow like that. Although the image of my mother towing my six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound father from the kitchen to the driveway and then hauling him into the car is sickly amusing.
“You’d be amazed at the strength you can summon in an emergency.”
“Apparently.” I nodded, as the thought of me tugging John’s limp body anywhere flashed through my mind. “Then what happened?”
“Then I drove him to the hospital, and the next thing I knew, the paramedics were lifting him onto a gurney and whisking him away. A day later the doctor told me that he was paralyzed from the waist down due to a spinal injury. Something about the roots of his nerves.” My mother tipped her head downward again.
“So it was my fault.”
“No. It was an accident.” She didn’t sound so sure.
“It wasn’t an accident. I meant to push him. You know that.”
“You didn’t mean to paralyze him, honey. You were just defending yourself. I called the police. I tried to get them to find you, but they said it was too soon to consider a seventeen-year-old a runaway. I wasn’t sure I could do it on my own. I thought you were already gone.” Only I wasn’t. Not yet. I was with Kerrie right down the street. And while she doesn’t know specifically where I was, she does know that I came back to our house and left a diamond ring and some cash in our mailbox.
Pretty Revenge (ARC) Page 18
